


Variations on a Scene

by sekiharatae



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekiharatae/pseuds/sekiharatae
Summary: Three takes on Cloud's first overnight trip after Advent Children:  one angsty, one fluffy, one funny.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	1. Angst Version

**Author's Note:**

> These were written to show how you can change the emotional feel of a scene through word choice. As such, I left as much as possible the _exact same_ between versions.
> 
> Just in case someone finds this exercise helpful, I decided to share. ❤️
> 
> If I had to pick, I think the fluffy one is most in character, but the funny one is, well, fun!

Cloud’s replacement phone was pretty much a carbon copy of his old one. It had the same number, theme, and ring tone. Reeve had even restored his contacts and call history, which was a little too much like being under Shinra’s omnipresent eye for Cloud’s comfort.

Still, the practical upshot was that Strife Delivery was back in business with hardly any delay. A week after Sephiroth’s attempted advent, Cloud was traveling again; a week after that, he resumed overnight deliveries. He’d been relieved, needing to be away from the unspoken fears and recriminations he could still see in Denzel, Marlene, and Tifa’s eyes. Maybe if he showed he was trustworthy, some of that would fade. 

Which was why instead of being home, Cloud was spending the night alone in a little hole-in-the-wall inn and waiting for Tifa to call. It was a familiar routine with them. Even after he’d let their family down, disappeared due to his geostigma, she’d still continued to call him every night. Her refusal to give up on him had been a lifeline. If she’d given up, he probably would have, too. Just let himself stop moving, stop resisting, and let Sephiroth take him. But she hadn’t, and had welcomed him back at Seventh Heaven after the silver-haired bastard had been defeated again. He doubted she would _ever_ give up on him, which just proved she was too good for him. She deserved more than his taciturn self would ever be able to offer. Not because he didn’t want to give it, but because he couldn’t seem to get it right. Which the impending conversation would soon show.

Cloud and conversation were not good friends. At best, they were unfriendly acquaintances. He could talk about battle tactics or monster weaknesses, but small talk was a mystery, and discussing his thoughts or feelings was more uncomfortable than pulling teeth. For someone who’d once told him that words weren’t the only way to indicate how you felt, there were times when Tifa didn’t seem to understand that words were truly difficult for him. He’d be lucky if he managed anything more than affirmative grunts for his half of the conversation, and could already hear the brightness in her voice fading at his lack of response. If there was one person he wanted never to disappoint, it was Tifa, yet it was a pattern he couldn’t seem to break.

When at last the phone rang, his trepidation was palpable. Tifa didn’t seem to notice. “You sound chipper. Did you have a good trip down?” 

“Aa.” And there was his first affirmative grunt. He ran one hand through his hair and sought for words. “I’ve been waiting for your call.” Nothing fancy, just the simple truth. 

“Me, too.” Her response was soft and a little shy, but also pleased. Because of him. Because he answered the phone instead of hiding behind voice mail. Ironically, instead of helping him relax, it just made him more tense, made it even harder to find words to say to continue the conversation. Here was proof that the things he said _mattered_ to Tifa. That he was the focus of her attention, and his actions were important enough for her to notice. That she wanted his attention in return. It was a gift he didn’t deserve, and he knew he couldn’t be trusted not to mess up. _Again._

Fifteen torturous minutes later the call ended. Each hung up to the sound of the other’s voice saying good night, but Cloud was silently cursing himself for all the things he’d still left unsaid.


	2. Fluffy Version

Cloud’s replacement phone was pretty much a carbon copy of his old one. It had the same number, theme, and ring tone. Reeve had even managed to restore all his saved messages, which included pretty much every message Tifa had ever left. It was amazing and welcome, if also a bit creepy in its efficiency.

The practical upshot was that Strife Delivery was back in business with hardly any delay. A week after Sephiroth’s attempted advent, Cloud was traveling again; a week after that, he resumed overnight deliveries. He’d been reluctant, wanting to wait until the unspoken fears he could see Denzel in particular harbored had been soothed, but Tifa, dark eyes warm with understanding, had explained that the best way to dispel the lingering worry was to prove it wrong. To make the trip and come home _on time_ , unhurt, with a smile on his face.

Which was why instead of being home keeping company with her, Cloud was spending the night alone in a little hole-in-the-wall inn and waiting for her call. It was a familiar routine with them. Even after he’d left in an attempt to spare her the knowledge of his geostigma, she’d still continued to call him every night. Her refusal to give up on him had been a lifeline; it was all that kept him going on the days when Sephiroth seemed to hover at his shoulder. And now that things were back on track with them, he anticipated that nightly call even more. There were a wealth of things he wanted to convey to her, now that he knew for certain that the feelings were welcome and reciprocated, even needed. It gave him a new determination to actively participate in this nightly ritual, rather than just listen. He wanted to hear a smile in her voice, and know he was the one that put it there. To give her happy conversations to counter all the memories of unanswered calls.

Mind you, Cloud and conversation were not good friends. They were barely acquaintances. He could talk about battle tactics or monster weaknesses, but small talk was a mystery, and discussing his thoughts or feelings did not come naturally. Luckily, Tifa understood this. What mattered to her was that he answered the phone at all, even if he managed nothing more than affirmative grunts for his half of the conversation. 

When at last the phone rang, he found he was smiling. Tifa must have heard it in his voice when he answered, because she commented on it immediately. “You sound chipper. Did you have a good trip down?” 

“Aa.” And there was his first affirmative grunt. He really needed to try for actual words. “I’ve been looking forward to your call.” Nothing fancy, just the simple truth. 

“Me, too.” Her response was soft and a little shy, but also pleased. Because of him. Because he answered the phone instead of hiding behind voice mail. It made something inside him relax, made it easier to find words to say to continue the conversation, so he could bask in the sound of her voice. He loved the sound of her voice. It was the first thing he clearly remembered when coming out of the mako fog. Even when she was exasperated with him, there was just something about it. About being the focus of her attention, and his actions being important enough for her to notice. That she wanted his attention in return.

So they talked for fifteen minutes or so–she about the kids, and the bar; he about the drive and the changes to Fort Condor. Nothing momentous or revealing–both of them still self-conscious about their relationship and making it work this time–but connecting just the same. When they hung up, it was with the sound of the other’s voice saying good night, and the wordless certainty of a thousand tender things unsaid.

Cloud had never thought answering the phone could be so rewarding.


	3. Funny Version

Upon receiving a new phone, one which was indistinguishable from it’s predecessor in any way, Cloud speculated that all Reeve had done was fish up his old one, drain the water out of it, and give it back to him. The thing even had his call history and saved messages. Either it was the same phone or, as a _hobby_ , Reeve was making backups of Cloud’s PHS the way he did for Cait Sith. In which case, Vincent shouldn’t bother buying a phone, he should just ask Reeve for the one the man probably had ready and waiting in a drawer, already customized with the Cerberus emblem.

Regardless, the practical upshot was that Strife Delivery was back in business with hardly any delay. A week after Sephiroth’s attempted advent, Cloud was on the road again; a week after that, he resumed overnight deliveries. He’d been reluctant, wanting to wait until the unspoken fears he could see Denzel in particular harbored had been soothed, but when Tifa had laughed, saying his hovering was “worse than Barret”, he’d agreed to go. 

Reports that he’d blanched white at the suggestion were obviously exaggerated.

Which was why instead of being home keeping company with Tifa, Cloud was spending the night alone in a little hole-in-the-wall inn and waiting for her call. It was a familiar routine with them. Even after his fool ass had left in an attempt to spare her the knowledge of his geostigma, she’d still continued to call him every night. And now that things were back on track with them, he anticipated that nightly call even more. He wanted to participate, not just listen; to hear a smile in her voice instead of disappointment. More, he wanted to know he was the one that put it there.

Mind you, Cloud and conversation were not good friends. They were more like exceptionally antagonistic frenemies who, obviously, refused to speak to one another. Give him something battle-related to talk about, and he was a font of information both useless and not. But small talk was almost as much a mystery as women, and asking him to discuss his thoughts or feelings was like asking a behemoth to calm down and use their inside voice. Luckily, Tifa was fluent in Cloud, easily deciphering the variety of semi-wordless affirmative grunts and other sounds with which he normally communicated. He could probably spout nonsense, and she’d still understand. But she deserved better, which was why he was willing to step outside his non-verbal comfort zone. For Tifa, Cloud Strife would do anything: save the world, fight Sephiroth, and even _flirt_. 

When at last the phone rang, he was ready. He’d been practicing. His voice when he answered was calm, smooth, his tone a bit lower than usual. Tifa must have noticed, because her own was a bit flirty, with an amused lilt. “ _You_ sound chipper. Did you have a good trip down?” 

“Aa.” And already he was regressing back to affirmative grunts. Face-palming, Cloud reminded himself to use words and sentences like a normal person. “I’ve been looking forward to your call.” Nothing fancy, just the simple truth, but he made sure to deliver it in the same calm, smooth tones as before. 

“Me, too.” Tifa’s response was openly pleased, with a hint of giggle. _Tifa! Giggling!_

 _Goddess Minerva, is this actually working? Are we flirting?_ It felt like flirting, but without any of the awkwardness Cloud normally associated with the activity. _Success!_ He made a fist and shook it in honor of this accomplishment. It let him relax, which made it easier to continue the conversation. Tifa’s voice was one of his favorite things. So much so that he freely admitted he’d happily listen to her read the items off a shipping list. He just... loved the sound of it, especially when she was happy. When she laughed, it was musical–and she laughed several times during their conversation. The sound was bubbly and joyful, and often wrapped around the single syllable of his name: _“Cloud!”_

Fifteen minutes later and far less self-conscious about their relationship and making it work, he hung up, Tifa’s voice saying good night, the words wrapped in amused affection, fresh in his mind.

He, Cloud Strife, was the man.


End file.
